


Man in the night

by beautifulwhensarcastic



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agent Carter timeline, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Steve gives bad art advice, to soften a stubborn Carter you need 220 lbs of Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulwhensarcastic/pseuds/beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: Working for SSR has introduced a variety of situations into Daniel's life, but this one might be taking the cake at the moment. Peggy Carter nearly bled out onto his fiancée's couch and now a scruffy goon at his door claims to be her husband.





	Man in the night

**Author's Note:**

> The story follows the plot of Agent Carter's season 2 episode 5 "The Atomic Job." 
> 
> Though it starts with Daniel's pov it won't be focused on him as the story goes on.

It's bizzare, to say the least, to hear faint laughter from the living room where Violet and Peggy have apparently found something amusing in this dire situation while he's here, in the kitchen, washing blood off his hands.

Peggy's blood. 

Daniel's heart squeezes once again at the memory of her motionless body impaled on a rusty rebar. Then a chilling jolt of guilt hits him at the realization of intimate tenderness he'd displayed while tending to Peggy.

Inappropriate for a boss. Inappropriate to show in a house he shares with his fiancée. 

Focused on scrubbing his hands clean, he doesn't hear when Violet enters the kitchen. Only when she brushes her hand along his back his thoughts return to the present.

"Shouldn't we take her to the hospital anyway?" Violet asks, standing so close to Daniel their arms touch as she moves her hands under the stream. 

Water runs pink for so long Daniel worries they might never wash that blood off. He reaches for Violet's fingers, squeezing them tight.

The ring on her finger carries blood stains as well. It makes him nauseous. 

"Both Peggy and Mister Jarvis were adamant on it." Daniel sighs. He releases Violet's hand and gently rubs the rest of the blood away from her digits. "I'm not sure why they refuse to take her to one, but I know Peggy well enough to listen."

"Yes," Violet shakes her head with a chuckle, "she does seem reckless enough to flee if we tried." 

Daniel only nods.

He's unconvinced by the argument that too powerful people are after her. Knowing Peggy, she'd play the bait just so they could get Frost and stop her further manipulation of the Zero Matter. 

No, there has to be a different reason, though he's not sure he wants to find out. Last year's discovery regarding Peggy had backfired at him with a nasty force. Situation cleared up in the end, but disappointment and anger on Peggy's face when he confronted her in the interrogation room were gnawing at  him even now.

A knocking on the door startles Daniel for a second. 

"It's probably Mister Jarvis," he says to Violet, noticing the flash of fear in her eyes. "He was supposed to get a different car." 

Daniel dries his hands with a kitchen cloth then softly kisses the top of Violet's head, before moving toward the door.

On his way he glances into the living room where Peggy is still resting on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her. She turns her head and smiles weakly at him. Perspiration glistens on her skin, making him worry if she's not running a fever. If she does, Daniel decides to take her to the hospital even against her will. 

It takes only a few steps to reach the entrance, but after the day's adventures and the last few hours of terrifying worry his leg hurts more than it has in the last years. He feels so damn tired, and it shows on his face when he opens the door. 

The man standing on his porch doesn't look much better.

He actually looks worse - drained and sore, as if he spent half of his life fighting. And mostly losing.

With arms loosely at his sides, the man makes no sudden moves. There's something about him, however, that makes Daniel wary. 

"May I help you?" He asks, a little harsher than he would any other day. 

The man slowly drags his gaze up Daniel's form, showing no surprise nor special interest in his crutch, as if it wasn't there. His eyes linger on Daniel's face for a brief second then shift to the side, above his shoulder, to look inside the house. 

Suspicion rising, Daniel moves to block the entrance with his body as much as he can, fingers clenching on the doorknob. Frost and Chadwick's goons look less scruffy, but he can't be sure they haven't sent a less recognizable brawler from some sewer. 

This man looks like he could stand back-alley fights all day. 

"I'm here for Peggy." He finally speaks, returning his gaze to Daniel's face.

The guy's voice is surprisingly soft and polite. It throws Daniel off. 

First of all, no thug would kindly ask to see their mark. Secondly, it doesn't fit the appearance.

He's got military boots on, pantlegs tucked into them carelessly, and a brown leather jacket thrown over a dark, wool sweater. Few days' growth on his face that no respectable man would have. Despite fatigue on his pale face, the man's eyes are bright and focused, on full alert.

He reminds Daniel of the soldiers in POW camps, few weeks, if not months in. With their bodies on the edge of breaking, but the spirit stubbornly refusing to let go.

Daniel tenses involuntarily when the guy lifts his hand, but he uses it only to brush his hair to the side, frowning in annoyance when a strand falls back on his forehead. 

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong address, buddy." Conjuring his best Jack Thompson's dismissive tone, Daniel glares at the stranger and pulls on the knob.

A hand slams on the door, nowhere near a strategic place that would make it difficult to close them, but with such force that the hinges rattle. 

"Your loyalty is very much appreciated, Mister Sousa-" He says calmly, but Daniel has no trouble hearing the threat beneath it. "But I'm tired and worried. I'd like to see my wife  _now_." 

Daniel freezes, nearly gasping aloud as if someone punched him in the guts. 

He shakes it off quickly.

Glancing at the man's hand, he notices a glint of gold around his ring finger. But refuses to accept the implication.

Peggy has no husband.

She's never been engaged either, as far as he knows. And he would know about it.  Jack would just love to rub it in his face had it happened whilen she was in New York.  

That guy is playing a game in which Daniel has no intention of participating.

Considering how fast the guy is, Daniel knows a struggle is a given if he reaches for his gun to scare him off. The noise, however, and a yelled warning should give Peggy and Violet a head start, if it comes to that.

As long as the man is here alone, as it appears so far. 

"Listen-" 

A car pulls up in front of the house and for a split of a second both Daniel and the man's attention shifts toward it. Daniel notices that the stranger tenses instinctively, as if awaiting potential danger instead of reinforcement. 

To their surprise, it's Edwin Jarvis who jumps out of the car, taking the porch in a few, quick strides. Less elegant than usually. 

"You're here already." He looks at the man, shaking his head in disbelief. "How fast exactly-" 

"Mister Jarvis?" Daniel interrupts him. His gaze moves back and forth between the two. "You know this man?"

Edwin straightens, seemingly taken aback with the question.

He stares at Daniel for a longer moment, then back at the man on his left. Palpable confusion on his face makes Daniel wonder if perhaps he also should be familiar with the stranger's identity, but he's unable to recall a time they might've met.

"Why yes, of course," Jarvis says. "Haven't you-? I mean-"

However, before any explanations and introductions are made the man charges in. With an impatient huff, he pushes his way inside. He shoves Daniel to the side, though not forcefully enough to knock him over.

His bulky frame seems to fill the entirety of the small corridor as he stops to look around.

Tension in his shoulders eases the moment he spots Peggy, his fists unclenching in relief. 

With a frown, Daniel watches him cross the room to crouch down in front of the couch.

Alarmed by the noises, Peggy turned onto her side to see the source of the commotion. At the sight of the man, the worry in her eyes disperses into surprise.

And a flash of something soft and vulnerable Daniel had never seen on her face appears. 

She mouths something inaudibly. A name, possibly.

Despite the pang of pain reflecting in a grimace on her face, Peggy pushes herself up into a sitting position. Instead of telling her to lie down, the man helps Peggy lean against the back of the couch. He rests his hands on the blanket covering her lap and simply looks up at her. 

When Peggy traces her finger down the side of the man's face Daniel quickly averts his gaze. He looks at Mister Jarvis who just closed the door as quietly as he could and focused his attention on a vase to avoid the intimate display. 

"I could use a glass of water, Sir, if that's not a problem?" Jarvis clears his throat.

"Yes." Daniel hastily agrees. He has no desire to linger here and watch Peggy act so tender toward another man. "Follow me, please." 

To Daniel's annoyance, it takes a lot of his own willpower not to peek at the couple in the living room as he leads Mister Jarvis toward the kitchen. He stops right at the door, tilting his head slightly as he says in a quiet voice-

"He said he's her husband."

He awaits a surprised gasp, any form of denial, or a practical explanation of it, but is given a simple, though hesitant reply.

"That would be correct," Mister Jarvis nods.

He studies Daniel's profile for a longer moment then reflexively turns to look over his shoulder where the light from the living room casts a rectangular spot on the curve of the wall, then back again at Daniel. 

"That's Captain Rogers."

Daniel's head snaps up sharply.

He was not expecting  _that_.

Though, in a way, it should be unsurprising, given the gossip and jokes following Peggy.

Somehow, he grew to believe them to be jabs with no true lining. 

Steve Rogers never appeared beside Carter. Not since the war.

The last time they shared the same space, at least according to the military reports, was aboard Schmidt's plane onto which they climbed together.

Afterwards, Captain America, along with the formation of 107th Infantry known as the Howling Commandos, had returned to Europe where they grub whatever's left of Hydra and nazis.

And Peggy was with SSR's New York office even longer than Daniel.

Hell, last year when Carter and Thompson joined a team of 107th in Eastern Europe for a mission Rogers was not there.

Had he been, Jack would undoubtedly spit demeaning comments back in the office. Well, more of them anyway, for he hadn't stopped himself from pointing out that Captain America wasn't there to pull sweet Betty Carver into his arms. 

So really, Daniel couldn't have been prepared for the news. 

Jaw clenching, he gives a sharp nod of acknowledgement then pushes the door to the kitchen open and walks in. He has no strength to force a smile on his face when Violet turns to them. 

In the living room, Steve's hands bunch the soft quilt covering Peggy, tugging the fabric down to reveal a wide blood stain on her blouse. 

His breath hitches, his grip tightening until his knuckles turn white. 

A muscle in his jaw twitches and Peggy's sure that if her heart wasn't loudly trashing in her chest like a wildling she'd be able to hear his teeth grinding. 

She reaches her hand to Steve's face and traces it gently with her fingers, along the well known lines and over the soft curve of his lips. Her touch soothes him, his eyes closing for a brief moment, but she knows he'll be anxious until the wound on her body heals fully.

"What are you doing here, Steve?" Peggy asks in a hushed voice.

She hates that lack of privacy keeps haunting them, stripping each reunion of desired intimacy. Their moments seem to consist of shards ripped from unfavorable fate, with tattered edges onto which they cling with all might. 

Their shared tendency to put the world first is mostly to blame for that. 

"I came to take you home. Well, to Howard's." Steve makes a face. It would make Peggy chuckle, if her suspicion of his motivation wasn't increasing by the second. 

She drops her hands to her lap, clenching them into fists. 

"What are you doing in the States?" Peggy demands, ready to throw a punch if he utters a single word about worrying about her and coming to her rescue. 

Not that she doesn't like knowing he cares, but she's had enough of men fretting over her fragile, female being.

For the past two years Peggy was forced to endure among those crippling egos underneath their suits and fedoras, battling against their attempts to sculpt her into their desired glass ornament. If such treatment came from Steve, the jab would hurt more than that damn rebar. 

He's spent the last years crossing Europe in a mad attempt to find traces of Bucky after they've realized there's no body where it should have been. Scraps of tales from terrified witnesses lead them to believe Bucky's got into Hydra's hands, or someone equally dangerous. 

Neither of them hesitated to mark it as their priority to find Barnes, though for different reasons. While a part of Peggy felt the same need to protect a friend and ease Steve's pain, there was a calculated obligation behind her support as well. 

With a heavy heart, Peggy left Steve in Europe to continue his search, while she picked up the fight on the other side of the globe. Keeping up appearances for both of them, so that no one would interfere with Steve's self-appointed mission. 

He wouldn't come back just to surprise her, though she knows from his letters how hard on him the separation is.

For both of them.

Not that she'll ever tell him, but Peggy spent countless nights reading his letters and crying. 

When Steve answers her question, it's without guilt, but with a flash of something dark in his eyes. 

"The trail I've followed in eastern Europe lead me to Italy and then here," he says quietly. "I landed this morning, but couldn't get a hold of you." 

Faith, or luck perhaps, had lead him to LA. If he chose to land in New York first, only there learning about Peggy's whereabouts, his worry and impatience would drive him insane. 

"The trail," Peggy repeats, with no masked relief. She shouldn't have doubted in Steve. 

The implication, however, quickly registers. Peggy's frown deepens as the gravity of the meaning behind Steve's words settles. 

At first, the search for Bucky seemed hopeless and futile, with close to zero leads. As they uncovered more faint traces it became apparent the situation will prove to be more complicated and dangerous than either of them could suspect. Investigation dragged Steve all across Europe, but Peggy never expected it could lead back to US.

Meaning the enemy's web has stretched farther than anticipated. 

She wonders if it grew on its own under their radars, or - what she fears most - they've brought it here themselves with operations like Paperclip. 

Peggy's heart squeezes with guilt, remembering Zola's in a comfy cell on American soil. 

"Do you think-" Peggy swallows hard, fingers clutching onto Steve's hands on her lap. "We've got Zola here and perhaps-"

"Shh." Steve interrupts her softly. He opens his fists to hold onto Peggy's hands, thumbs rubbing circles on her skin. "We'll work it out once you're rested."

He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her bruised knuckles, then lets go of her and shifts to the side. He pulls the blanket off completely then slides his hands under Peggy's knees and back.

She stiffens, hand pushing against his chest. 

"And what do you think you're doing?" Peggy glares at him.

It doesn't stop him from lifting her up, though. 

A few years ago her gaze alone would make Steve pause and stammer out an apology, but he grew insufferably cheeky, too skilled in recognizing when she's really pissed and when he can allow himself to push a few of her buttons. 

Though Peggy wraps an arm around Steve's neck, she still hisses at him.

"I can walk just fine." 

Steve straightens without staggering, his hold on Peggy secure. His strength has been a source of Peggy's great enjoyment on a couple occasions, and though she experienced it a few times it still evokes a pleasant buzz. 

Fingertips digging harder into her flesh, Steve turns so his back blocks the view of their faces from any prying eyes. He lowers his head, forehead nearly touching Peggy's.

Warmth of his breath tickles her cheek as he speaks to her in a clipped tone.

"I know that. But you've been badly injured and to anyone beside the two of us you should be barely conscious. Briskly walking a few hours after being impaled is going to raise suspicions." 

Peggy knows that. Shit, she'd deliver that logical argument to anyone if their roles were reversed. It's why she was adamant on avoiding any hospitals where her vitals and blood tests results would draw unwanted attention, and further dangerous complications. 

No one heals so quickly from a wound like that. 

Unless they got a form of a serum. 

It's something Peggy doesn't plan on advertising. Especially not within the vicinity of governmental employees. 

As much as she trusts Daniel in the line of work, her secret is one she wouldn't feel safe sharing with him.

Their understanding had shattered in the last year's events, what they've rebuilt in their friendship Peggy carefully limited to work and insignificant information, protecting everything else about her life from him and others. 

"You're right." Peggy sighs, dropping her head onto Steve's shoulder.

"But you're carrying me only to the car," she adds in a stern tone. 

The fact Steve doesn't reply isn't a good premise of his future compliance, she knows. 

Steve calls for Mister Jarvis before making his way to the door. Though he hears footsteps of two behind them, he doesn't acknowledge Daniel's presence in any way.

It's has little to do with his hurry to get Peggy safely home. 

Tired as she is, Peggy doesn't press on following courtesy and pleasantries. She turns her head and peeks over Steve's shoulder, offering Daniel a weak smile and a silent nod. She decides to wait a day or two before properly thanking Violet for much appreciated assistance.

Steve has Peggy in the backseat of the car by the time Edwin gets into the driver's seat. He stays with her in the back, cradling her body to his. Peggy makes a fussy noise when he tightens his arms around her, preventing her from sliding onto the seat next to him.

They ride mostly in silence. Until at the second intersection Mister Jarvis clears his throat and glances at them in the rearview mirror.

"I must admit, I'm rather shocked with how fast you are, Captain Rogers." He says. "I've been aware of, well, the advantages of the serum, but it was still shocking to witness."

"Fast?" Before Steve gets a chance to quickly close the topic, Peggy chimes in. With a frown that deepens by the second. "What has he done, Mister Jarvis?" 

"I did nothing!" Steve insists, pouting. 

Peggy eyes him doubtfully. If she didn't know him well enough, Steve's face would betray him anyway. He can't lie at all.

He scowls at her, but in a battle of glares Peggy's the usual winner. Mostly because Steve caves in too easily. 

"Mister Jarvis?" Peggy asks again, more insistent.

Aware of being guilty of getting Steve in trouble, Jarvis squirms in his seat nervously. He tries to choose his next words carefully, but it's rather hard to save the situation now.

"We were on our way to Chief Sousa's house and I stopped at red light. Captain Rogers didn't want to wait to get to you, so he took a shortcut. On foot." 

It sounds better than admitting the Captain had jumped out of the car and ran up the street, right in the middle of it, too. Thankfully, due to the late hour there were barely any cars. Still, it took a few minutes before Mister Jarvis reached the destination only to find Steve already there. Not even out of breath.

"You ran?" Peggy stares at Steve incredulously. 

He looks unrepentant, to say the least. A mirroring reflection of the face he had for days after Peggy regained her consciousness following the crazy procedure Steve and Howard conducted without her consent. 

Not that she was able to make any decisions concerning her life at the time. 

If not for their risky idea, she'd be dead. 

"You're so dramatic," Peggy rolls her eyes.

She tucks her head under Steve's chin, hiding the smile on her lips. One of her hands rests on his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing metal rectangles hidden under his wornout sweater. Dogtags - his own, hers, and a copy of Bucky's. A melodramatic act, but she never commented on it, letting Steve keep what he loves most close to his chest. In every meaning of that term. 

Steve kisses the top of her head and Peggy sighs contently. Circumstances are (as often in their case) less than positive, but she's glad to be in his arms again. 

Despite Peggy's earlier demand, Steve refuses to let go of her when they reach Howard's house. She could fuss about it, make a swift twist and land on her feet then yell at him, but she finds no will to do so. It's quite pleasant to be taken care of.

Not that she needs it, of course. 

To emphasize that, Peggy scowls at Steve. 

"Stop carrying me," she says with fake exasperation, knowing damn well Steve won't listen to her.

For someone who follows her lead out in the field, he displays an obstinate penchant for disobeying her commands at home. 

They hadn't got a chance to explore domestic life much, despite being married for over two years now, but she's got a feeling a few quarrels are in their future. Hopefully, Steve maintains his soft side and apologizes first, because she's more likely to choke on the words than admit to being wrong. 

"Stop getting injured." Steve quips.

Stride not faltering, he carries her through the door, which Mister Jarvis keeps open for them before retreating to his side of the manor. Steve got a chance to briefly look around the house earlier. Ana let him in, gave him a small tour of the place and lead him straight to Peggy's bedroom. In which half of Steve's old Brooklyn apartment would fit. 

"Stop being a smartass!" This time she's unable to hide her grin, which Steve reciprocates with a flash of a brilliant smile. 

He drops her down on the bed, onto which Peggy falls with a small squeak, bouncing slightly on the mattress. 

Steve bends down, placing his hands on both sides of Peggy's body. A mischievous glint lightens his eyes as he hovers over her - a spark usually promising of something that leaves Peggy breathless and sated. 

"Stop liking it when I am," he murmurs, corner of his mouth titlted in a smirk. 

In a swift move, Peggy slides her fingers into his hair and pulls him down for a kiss. A needy and desperate one, an attempt to rub out the remnants of fear which always lingers under her skin when they're separated.

The night's events left a unsettling brand on her as well, not only in the form of injury. 

Despite Peggy's tightening grip, Steve gently pulls away when a hiss escapes her lips at the pressure of his body against her wounded side. 

"Easy there." Steve kisses her forehead, not the least fearing her displeased frown. He sits down at the edge od bed, hip to hip with Peggy. "Let's get you out of these," he says, unbuttoning her blouse. 

With a sigh, Peggy relaxes into the mattress, letting him undress her.

She sure would prefer them both to be active in the task, as well for the intent of it to be different. Though deprived of many opportunities, they've managed to work out a quite effective cooperation in said activity. Steve has definitely improved. 

He has always been skilled manually. Peggy remembers her own surprise at how quickly he opened tiny hook-and-eye clasps on the embroidered waistcoat on their wedding night.  

They don't even have a single picture from that day, only a drawing Steve made later, but Peggy remembers every detail like it was yesterday. 

It was spontaneous, not planned at all, but also not a decision they had any doubts about.

A few months after the Valkyrie incident, they were treading through Europe trying to find a trace of James Barnes, a few Howlies along with them. Most fo the time they slept under the bare sky, occasionally in small households if owners agreed to help them. Many did.

One of the shelters they've found was in a small village in Polish mountain region - a former soldier, POW whose camp was liberated by Captain America, had invited them to stay at his house with his family. Young sisters of their host were the ones who asked Peggy why won't she just marry the pretty American, efficently disarming any of Peggy's poor arguments. 

According to them, Steve was beautiful and looked hardworking enough to wed. 

She remembers the touch of Steve's hand under the table, how he had squeezed her fingers and leaned to whisper that he'd marry her right that second if she wanted to. Peggy's instinctive reaction to snort never made it out of her dry throat. She couldn't blame it on vodka either, for she downed only two shots of it when she nodded. 

Next day they were married.

A priest who spoke poor English, conducted a simple, quick ceremony in a small, wooden church. 

Peggy had no dress. She also didn't care much about the outfit, ready to speak her vows in her least dirty change of clothes. However, local girls insisted on improving her outfit. In a country torn by the war and hundred years of erasure from the maps of Europe, celebrations and traditions held great value. If not only for herself and Steve, Peggy agreed to it to show gratitude to those people who've shown them such kindness.

And so she ended wearing parts of a traditional, folk costume, despite not having a single drop of Polish blood in her veins. Over her blue blouse she wore a beautiful, hand embroidered waistcoat. There'd been also a heavy, coral necklace made of beads as red as Peggy's lipstick, and a flower crown over her loose locks.

Borrowed shirt was a bit too tight for Steve, but fortunately no seam had ripped. He refused to take his Captain America suit on the mission, but even if he had it on him, Steve wouldn't want to wear it for their ceremony. He needed to be himself that day, not the shield. 

"Peg?" 

Hearing her name snaps Peggy out of the sweet memory. 

She blinks a few times, finally focusing her gaze on Steve's face. Unruly strand of hair had flopped over his forehead again, nearly poking his eye. 

"Where have you gone?" Steve asks softly.

"I was just remembering," she replies, reaching a hand to brush that wisp of hair from his face. 

Steve hums at that, not proding her for further explanations. He motions for Peggy to sit up and peels the blouse off her body. Skirt follows soon, though Steve takes a longer moment to unhook Peggy's stockings from the garter belt - mostly to avoid any tearing, but also to enjoy how Peggy's breath hitches when he caresses her thighs. 

"You're a menace." Peggy growls at him when Steve pulls away. 

He winks at her before standing up. His worn-out duffle bag is by the door and he moves toward it. After retrieving one of his clean T-shirts he walks back to the bed, kicking aside Peggy's clothes which he carelessly dropped on the floor. 

Steve helps Peggy put the shirt on then arranges the pillows so she can rest against them. A gentle kiss follows, gradually turning heated. Until Steve breaks it. Again. 

"You want something to eat?" He asks, checking the dressing on Peggy's wound then pulling the covers up her body.

"No." She glares at him, irritated. 

Five minutes later she's eating a bowl of soup - which Steve acquired from Edwin - and watches Steve move about the space, creating more mess. Every time he looks her way, Peggy loudly slurps on the soup. 

He walks out a few times. To make further arrangements with Mister Jarvis, she assumes. Or to make more mess. He's exceedingly great at it. 

Peggy stills with a spoonful of soup halfway to her lips when Steve appears in the doorway with a disturbed look on his face. She arches one of her brows in a silent question.

"Howard's portraits are in every room. _Every_." He says, looking around in agitation.

"Yes, well. An artist told Howard that art makes a house a home." Peggy deadpans. 

Steve groans, bowing his head in defeat.

" _That_ was not what I meant when I said that." Though, admittedly, he shouldn't be surprised Howard executed his advice in a very Stark way. 

"Howard hears what Howard wants," Peggy shrugs, amusement clear in her voice. Once again she slurps loudly when Steve shots her a look.

Shaking his head, he closes the door and crouches down to rummage around in his duffle bag. Taking few needed items, he stands up and points toward the bathroom door, indicating where he's headed.

"Don't worry, darling. I've taken down the pictures that hanged here and in the bathroom." Peggy calls after him, barely smothering a burst of laughter when he freezes at her words. 

With another shake of his head, he mutters _Funny_ and closes the bathroom door behind him. 

When half an hour later Steve steps out of the bathroom, wearing only bottoms of pajama that Peggy bought him, his face is shaved clean and his hair wet. 

Peggy rolls her eyes, noticing a pile of dirty clothes left on the bathroom floor. 

"You're cleaning all of that tomorrow." She orders with a pointed glare.

"Yes, Ma'am," Steve chuckles, sliding under the covers. 

He helps Peggy rearrange the pillows and settle down, careful of her wounded side. He rolls onto his back, so Peggy can rest on her better side next to him, her head on his chest. Arm circled around her, Steve traces his fingers down her ribs. It itches him to check the dressing one more time. Better yet, to take a closer look at the wound itself. Maybe under his gaze it would heal faster. 

"It's healing," Peggy whispers, rubbing her cheek against Steve's chest, enjoying his warmth and scent. 

"I know. It's just-" Steve pauses with a sigh. He takes Peggy's hand into his own and lifts her fingers to his lips. "I know," he repeats firmly and kisses the pads of her fingers. 

He used to do that after the fatal crash, too. Before and after the procedure he'd sit at Peggy's bed and tenderly touch her hands. The only time Steve hadn't been touching her was when Howard performed the blood transfusion, though they've been close enough for Steve to at least feel her warmth. 

Steve's blood allowed Peggy's body to heal itself and recuperate - a change that appeared to be permanent from what they've found out so far. 

"Steve?" Peggy's voice quivers slightly as she says- "I'm scared of your findings. That it leads back here-"

"Shhh." He squeezes he arm, pulling her even closer. Resting their joined hands on his chest, he kisses the top of her head. 

"We'll deal with it in the morning. For now let's just be husband and wife, dead tired and in need of sleep."  

Peggy hums in agreement, fatigue already drowning her in slumber. Normally, she'd allow herself to fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillows, but with Steve's presence she forced herself to stay awake until he rested next to her.

She knows this evening is another scrap of borrowed time which will soon be buried under the weight of yet another fight they throw themselves into, but she hopes there's a future weaved of moments like this one. 

Including Steve's soft snoring that reaches her ears before she falls asleep herself. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested in Peggy's borrowed wedding outfit - [here's what I had in mind](http://lovingpoland.tumblr.com/post/117781343249/ginara-polish-girls-in-folk-costume-from). It's a traditional costume from Kraków. Though Peggy and Steve were at the time in Podhale region which folk costume is slightly different, I couldn't get this one out of my head.


End file.
